Son of Magneto
by Feyd-Rautha3
Summary: This is a reform fic with Magneto and his son Quicksilver, who starts out as a teen. WARNING: CONTAINS CORPORAL PUNISHMENT, AKA SPANKINGS. SOME OF THEM ARE ABUSIVE. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. Rated Teen just in case.
1. Chapter 1

An alarm is blaring somewhere around me. Hundreds of feet rushing to fall in line make the building shake; I can feel it through the floor. Suddenly a glaring light fills the dark little room I've been held in. There was no ominous creak of warning as the doors open. My transportation unit is completely plastic. I am called out.

I rise to my feet and step down into that light. The plastic holders on my wrists keep me from shielding my eyes, but it doesn't take long for them to adjust to the new light and allow me to view my surroundings.

I am in a large concrete room. It almost looks like a bunker. Inside the room they have raised an army devoid of any and all metal. My welcoming party.

It strikes me as funny that they have an entire army on their side, but I am not the one with fear written so plainly on my face. That's right, _Homo sapiens_, stand there behind your ceramic guns with your tails so firmly between your legs. Magneto has arrived.

I am escorted to the far side of the room, and by escorted I mean that I walk while five men stand in front of me and five behind. The rest of the troops form an aisle for me to walk down. Red carpet treatment for the most powerful of mutants.

I cannot help the smug look on my face as I walk. I am the captured, but they act like cornered prey. How perfectly marvelous to see the effect Magneto has on these creatures.

I notice that one of my escorts must be a new recruit. He is young and terrified. I can see him shaking, sweat dripping down his brow. Now, I must admit that I tend to have a flair for the dramatic, and sometimes I like to… What's the word young people are using these days? Troll? I do believe these tendencies run in my family.

This causes me to stop walking and glance at the young man, an action that immediately makes everyone else in the room nervous, as they hold their guns at the ready.

"Do you fear me, boy?" I ask. He doesn't need to answer; I can see it in his eyes. "Good. You have every reason to fear me. As soon as I break out of here, I am coming for you first." With that said, I continue walking.

I am led to an office where a man sits behind a desk. Two of my escorts enter with me, the rest remain outside. Bold move on the clerk's part. I stand there and we begin the identification process.

"Erik Lehnsherr?" The man looks at me.

I nod. "Though I do prefer my real name."

He raises a questioning brow.

"Magneto," I clarify.

I see him purse his lips to an 'o', rolling his eyes. "Show me your left arm then, _Magneto_."

Words were wasted on this one. I extend both my arms since they are handcuffed together, but I turn slightly so he can see what I know he's looking for. There, on my forearm, are tattooed the numbers 214782. Those numbers bring me many painful memories, but I expected that they'd be brought up at least once in this ordeal.

The man scribbled something down. Then he took a coin out and laid it on the table. "Move the coin for me."

Hm, now this seemed familiar. I move my hand slowly for effect. I make the coin move. Proof they can't deny.

The clerk looks at me skeptically. "You appear much too young to have been in Auschwitz, Mr. Lehnsherr."

I straighten my back and look at him condescendingly. "Boy, there are so many things in this world that you can't even begin to comprehend. But, if you must know for your precious paperwork, I used the serum from Operation Rebirth."

Several hours later and I have been labeled and categorized, searched, scrubbed, searched again, dressed in a clean, white jumpsuit, and photographed. Now I am sitting in my temporary home. They have taken the cuffs off, but I have been warned that they could be put back on at any moment.

Plastic chair, plastic table, plastic bed, see through walls. No creativity and no privacy. It was nothing I wouldn't be able to handle.

I have already made two requests of the people at this… lovely facility. The first one arrives about an hour into my stay.

A guard enters carrying a box. No doubt it has already been opened, inspected, tested, and put through all sorts of metal detectors. I watch him from my bed as he watches me nervously and sets the box on my table. Then he leaves as quickly as he can. Do I really cause these humans so much fear? Fascinating.

I stand and walk to my table. Inside the box is a hand-carved black and white onyx chess set. I run my hand over the smooth stone, then I set the board on the table and began to set the pieces up. When I am done with this task I put the box under my bed and sit back down to wait.

Another two hours pass and my second request finally arrives- a visitor that I have not seen in some time.

I stand and wait to greet my old friend. "Charles," I smile as he is wheeled in on a plastic wheelchair.

"Erik," he stares at my face. "Is it really you?"

"What? Doesn't it look like me?" I have to smirk slightly.

"Yes, it looks like you forty years ago," Charles answers. "They told me you used the Operation Rebirth serum, but I was not expecting this."

I chuckle and gesture towards the table. "Shall we play a game to pass the time?"

At his nod I wheel Charles to the table, then take my seat across from him.

"You know," Charles lays back in his chair and peers at my face, "You almost look exactly like your son."

I smile. My pieces are white, so I go first. How appropriate. I choose a pawn towards the center of the line and I move it forward. "I know. Pietro was ecstatic when he saw me the first time. Foolish boy, he gets happy over the oddest things."

"Indeed," Charles chuckled and also moved a pawn. "That seems exactly the type of thing he'd get excited over. He still adores you. I suppose the younger look caused some trouble for processing?"

"Some," I study the board, "But not as much as my DNA."

He gives me a puzzled look.

"The serum altered my DNA slightly," I make my next move, "But there was enough original DNA for them to confirm my identity."

"Ah," Charles nods. "I'll admit, when I first heard of the break in at S.H.I.E.L.D. I was not expecting you to use it on yourself."

"You shouldn't be surprised, it has all sorts of benefits for mutants." I smile and tap my temple. "Surely you've noticed?"

Charles squints his eyes. "Yes… You already had a formidable mental barrier, but now it's nearly impossible to read you. You're saying Rebirth did this?" He shakes his head and moves his knight out.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" I move a pawn to guard another.

"Very," Charles sits back in his seat and looks at me. "How has your family been, Erik?"

The question catches me slightly off guard. "Better," I answer after a moment. "I have been… improving the relationships with my children. Pietro is more willing to accept it than Wanda is."

"I am not surprised," Charles smiles, "The boy has always looked up to you. Even before, when…" He looks to the side.

I scoff. Ah yes, before…

"Pietro!"

"Yes, Papa?" Fourteen-year-old Pietro Maximoff, known as Quicksilver, appeared at his father's side before the name had finished forming.

Erik glanced down at him. "Where have you been all day? No matter, I want you to run a message over to Sabretooth for me." He handed his son a slip of paper. "He went to scout out the mansion."

"Sure," Pietro took the slip and stuffed it in his pocket. "Piece of cake. Anything else you want me to do while I'm out?" He was bored and itching for something, anything, to do. Especially something that would please his father.

"No, that will be all for now," Erik dismissed him with a wave of his hand, "Come straight home when you are done."

"Yes Papa." Pietro turned and ran out of the office, out of the house, and across town to where the X-Men mansion was. It only took him about a minute to get there. He would have been faster, but he had to take time to dodge the slow ones that always cluttered the roads and sidewalks, almost unmoving compared to him. It seemed like they wanted him to smack into them and they planned to move as slow as possible for this to happen. Of course, that couldn't be true since they didn't know about him, but it seemed like it.

He stopped by the woods that bordered one side of the property and looked around for signs of Victor. The overgrown cat was nowhere to be seen. He rolled his eyes and ran around, trying to find him. He'd better not be in the mansion… Not that it would be a challenge to get in. He just didn't feel like being around those idiots, the stupid might rub off on him.

After a few seconds of dashing around and no results, Pietro steeled himself. No doubt, he'd have to search the mansion itself before he found Victor. There was no way he was going home without delivering his father's message. With a deep breath, he ran up and over the gate.

As soon as his feet hit the ground a jolt ran through his body that knocked his breath away and froze him in his spot. "Wh-what?" he gasped, trying to move his feet. "What is this?"

Pietro shook his head, starting to feel a little dizzy. His heartbeat slowed, his movements became sluggish, his head swam. He… Things around him were speeding up. Either that, or he… No. He couldn't handle the thought.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here."

Pietro turned towards that voice, blinking a few times for his vision to focus. He scowled when he saw who it was. "I don't have time for you right now, laser-eye."

Cyclops stepped forward. "Seeing as you're the one trespassing, I think you can make the time."

Pietro tried to back away, but his limbs were too heavy to drag even an inch on the ground. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Yes you do," he scoffed, "Stop acting tough, Maximoff. I know you can't use your powers now; you're normal. Just as fast as everyone else."

"No!" Pietro glared, not willing to believe it. "What the iad did you do to me?"

"Ha ha!" Another voice joined in.

Pietro glanced back to see others approaching. Iceman, Angel, Nightcrawler, and that motanul acru Wolverine.

Iceman smirked and circled the speedster. "I thought you said it was Sabretooth out here! If I'd have known it was only the annoying brat then I would have stayed inside."

"Sabretooth is around here somewhere," Wolverine snorted, "Trust me on that."

"Then what's he doing here?"

The feral mutant shrugged. "We caught a mouse in a bear trap." He turned to Cyclops. "What do yah plan on doin' now, Summers?"

Cyclops frowned as he thought. It must be because it hurt so much to get his brain working. "We'll hold onto him for now. Jean or the Professor might be able to get something from him when they return. Besides, it wouldn't be responsible for us to leave him with a man like Magneto. It's not healthy for a kid to grow up around that."

Pietro gasped and tried to lunge at the man. "No! You can't do that to me!" He was just starting to become useful to his father- the X-Men couldn't ruin that for him! They ruined everything else, but not that!

"Calm down there, slow-poke," Iceman grabbed his arms from behind. Pietro found it hard to escape now that his powers were gone. He began to panic.

Cyclops stepped forward and began to pat Pietro down, searching for anything he might be carrying. To Pietro's dismay, he felt the paper in his pocket and took it out for inspection.

The Speedster whimpered. He was helpless, at their mercy, and there was no way for him to save himself.

Cyclops looked at him smugly and pocketed the paper. "Keep a grip on him, Bobby. I'm turning off the motion inhibitor."

"No problem, this guy's a wimp," Iceman laughed.

Pietro growled and tried to knock Iceman to the side, but he only succeeded in knocking himself off balance. Every one one of those blestemat X-Men laughed at him. Every one except for the Wolverine, who would probably feel pain if he ever let a smile escape. He looked generally pissed off, as usual. Pietro's face turned red and he hung his head in shame.

"I don't sink he vill be any more trouble," Nightcrawler commented with a smug look on his blue, furry face.

Cyclops smirked and took some kind of remote from his pocket, then pushed a button.

The pins and needles left Pietro's legs and he found that he could move them, but the sluggish feeling remained. Pietro almost cried- had they taken his power from him along with his dignity? Would he be slow for the rest of his life?

Before he could fully grasp that thought there was a familiar roar from beyond the gate.

The Wolverine snarled and let his claws out, getting into a fighting stance.

Pietro didn't have to turn around to know who it was that was charging their way. Victor.

The feral mutant hurdled over the fence and backhanded Iceman out of the way, then wrapped an arm around Pietro's waist and hauled him over a shoulder. Before the X-Men could react he had spun around and ran off the property.

That was the first time since puberty that Pietro experienced motion sickness. When his eyes could focus again and the queasiness left his stomach, he laughed at the startled looks on the X-Men's faces as they receded into the background, especially the Wolverine's. The other feral had probably been expecting a fight and looked bewildered now that he didn't get one. Pietro was surprised that he wasn't giving chase, actually.

As Victor hurried him away from the mansion, Pietro's heartbeat began to increase. The world around him slowed to its normal pace, bringing waves of relief over the young mutant. His powers were back.

"Alright, Victor," he called out, kicking a little as he tried to roll off of the other mutant's shoulder, "You can put me down now, I can run."

Victor grumbled and didn't answer. He simply ran on for a few moments, probably wanting to put more space between them and the X-Men in case the latter decided to give chase. When they were a safe distance away he finally slowed to a halt.

Pietro yelped loudly when he felt a heavy swat to his backside. Then Victor bent over and put him on his feet. Pietro quickly rubbed the sting out, fuming. "You're not allowed to hit me, I'm telling my father!"

Victor snorted and crossed his arms. "It's not the first time I've done that and it won't be the last, brat. What the h3ll were you thinking, going to the mansion like that?"

"I was looking for you!" Pietro scowled. "I had a message from Papa and I couldn't find you anywhere!"

"Of course you couldn't find me, I was hiding!" Victor roared, "You should have stayed put long enough for me to catch your scent, I would have come to you!"

"I didn't have time for that," Pietro said indignantly, crossing his arms, "You're slow."

"No, you had plenty of time," Victor corrected, "Just not enough patience. And that put your father's message right into their hands. You think he's going to be proud of that? No. The only reason I'm not taking you and beating the sh!t out of you right now is because I know your daddy's gonna do worse when we get back!"

A jolt of fear ran down Pietro's spine as Victor spoke those words. "Now wait, Victor… Please don't do that. Don't tell him."

"He's going to find out one way or another, Pietro," Victor almost looked sorry for him. Yeah right, that guy never felt anything for anyone. "I'm not going to be the one who lies to him."

Pietro whimpered. He was right, his father always knew somehow. He turned and disappeared as he ran back to the house.

Unlike other kids his age, Pietro didn't want to stall. He ran right for his father's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in," Erik's voice called out.

Pietro opened the door and peered into the office. "Hi Papa…"

"Pietro? That took far longer than I expected," Erik looked up at him. "Were you able to deliver my message?"

Pietro looked down and shook his head. "No, Papa… The X-Men interfered and… They took it from me."

Erik looked over at his son with apparent contempt. "I see… Pietro, are you not the fastest person on the planet? How did they catch you?"

"They had something that turned off my powers, I don't know how to explain it," Pietro didn't look at him.

"Quicksilver, you are my son. You should be above such petty things as the X-Men and their toys."

Pietro slumped down even more. "I'm sorry, Papa…"

"Don't apologize," Magneto glared his way, "Just do things right the first time!" He stood up from his desk. "You know what happens when you fail, boy. Come here and prepare yourself."

Pietro's heart nearly stopped. With the manner of one on Death Row he slowly forced himself over to his father's big metal desk. Every time the X-Men meddled he ended up here. As he stretched his upper body across the desk and gripped the other side, he could have sworn he saw marks from his palms on the desk from having done this action so many times. Why did the X-Men hate him so much that they'd do this to him over and over?

He shivered slightly as his pants and underwear were lowered to the floor, then he saw a small cloud of metal particles float up off of the desk. He didn't need to turn his head to see what his father was making with them.

There was the sound of metal hitting flesh and Pietro had to choke back a yelp and force his hands not to reach back and rub the sting out of his thigh.

His father continued to spank him with the cruel implement, and Pietro tried his hardest not to make a sound. His father knew he was a failure; he didn't need to see him as weak or a crier, either. However, as the strikes kept coming, he couldn't stop the tears. He rested his head against the cool desk and cried as silently as he could, occasionally letting out a louder cry when he got a particularly hard hit.

His father spanked him until he collapsed and his backside and thighs felt raw. Nothing was too far when it came to teaching his son a lesson.

Pietro lay there, crying silently, for a good few moments before he could gather the strength to stand. Erik looked down at him. "Don't disappoint me again," he warned, "That is not what a son does. A son makes his father proud."

Pietro nodded and winced as he took his pants back up. "May I be excused, sir?" he asked in the slightest whisper.

"Yes," Erik answered, "But don't be late for dinner."

Pietro nodded and quietly walked out of the office. His father sat back down as if nothing happened.

Pietro would train, he would become better, and he would make sure the X-Men would never be able to beat him again. He couldn't be a disappointment to his father.


	2. Chapter 2

"Erik?"

He brings me out of my reverie. "I'm sorry, Charles. I was distracted." I look over the board to see what his move had been; he castled. I follow suit.

Those memories caught me by surprise. I hadn't thought of that time of my life in years. Those were dark days for me- but certainly not the darkest.

"What were you thinking about?"

"This game," I answer, then shake my head. "What you just said. If Wanda hadn't been there I don't think I- Well, I am just glad Wanda and Pietro had each other."

Charles nods. "Yes. I have never seen two siblings so close before. You should be proud."

"I am," I smile. Or is that just a wish?

Pietro finally managed to stop crying into his pillow. He felt absolutely disgusted with himself. If he actually acted like his father's son, he'd have been able to take his punishment without tears. Dracu, he wouldn't have had to take it at all!

No, he couldn't do anything right. He was only good for ruining things. He didn't know why his father didn't just kick him out- No matter what people said about Magneto, he was a great man. The fact that he kept around such a useless risk to his important mission proved it. Pietro didn't deserve the second chances he got.

He rolled, ignoring the pain, and reached under his bed for something. Just as his fingers wrapped around it there was a knock on the door.

He groaned and moved back to his pillow. "Who is it?" he called out hoarsely, quickly wiping his eyes.

"Who do you think, mut fundul?" Wanda walked in without waiting for his permission and sat on his bed. "I could hear you screaming all the way down the hallway and I wanted to make sure you were ok."

Pietro blushed and hid his face in the pillow he had been holding. "I wasn't that loud… I don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you weren't," she leaned over and rubbed his back, "I just have a sense for these things, I guess. That and you only sit around in just your boxers and shirt after you've been spanked. Now don't you start lying to me, baby brother; what'd you do to get our father mad?"

"Baby brother?" Pietro looked at her indignantly, "I'm only younger than you by thirty seconds!"

"Still a baby brother, now answer the question."

Pietro sighed and lay his head back down. "Papa sent me to give Vikki a message for him. I couldn't find Vikki so I tried going into the mansion to look, but they caught me."

"Did they do anything to you?" Wanda clenched her teeth.

"Well, they scared me a little," Pietro admitted, "But nothing worse- Ow!"

"What were you thinking? Don't you know what could have happened?"

Pietro grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head where his sister had hit him. "I know. Trust me, you're the third person to lecture me today." He shook his head and hid his face again. "I can't help it if I'm a failure…"

Wanda's face softened. "Pietro…" She sighed and ran her fingers through his hair. "You aren't a failure. The only reason anyone's upset is because we don't want you getting hurt or being taken away from us, not because of some stupid mission."

"Not true with Papa," was Pietro's muffled reply, "Or Victor. Only you."

"He loves you, Pietro," Wanda began to rub his back again. "He just doesn't show it well."

Pietro didn't respond. After a few quiet moments he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but could you leave me alone for a while?"

Wanda hesitated, then nodded. "Alright." She leaned over and kissed the top of his head, then stood. "Don't do anything stupid or you'll have me to deal with."

"I won't," Pietro promised, "Thank you."

She walked to the door. "I love you, baby brother."

"Don't call me that," Pietro scowled slightly, "I love you too."

He waited for the door to close and made sure she was gone. He loved his sister and she always did make him feel better, but he didn't want 'better' right now. He wanted to feel numb.

He searched under his bed again until he felt a bottle, then picked it up and uncapped it. He took a large swig and sat back on his bed. Good ol' vodka, it was reliable, unlike he was. Pietro took another sip and felt the burn settle in his chest.

Wanda was wrong. His father didn't love him, but he was perfectly acceptable of that. What was there to love? Not much. Sure, he had his speed, which was probably the main reason his father kept him around. But power is useless if the person controlling it is an idiot. His father was a smart man- he had to know that the costs outweighed the benefits in this case. Why was he still there then?

Pietro took a long drink from the bottle and shook his head. It must be to make a good impression on his recruits. It wouldn't look right if he abandoned his son, even if said son deserved it. No, his father was manipulative and knew that was something that would make him look bad, so he wouldn't do it.

Oh yes, he knew how manipulative his father was, even doing it to his son, and it didn't bother Pietro at all. As long as he was being manipulated to stay then he must have some use, no matter how slight, and that was all he wanted, really. He wanted to be worth something. And being manipulated was better than being ignored.

He was past half the bottle now. As the depressing thoughts continued Pietro drank more, and the more he drank the more he turned to self-loathing. When the first bottle was gone he reached under his bed for another. He wasn't quite drunk- not yet. His power came with a quick metabolism, and with that it took a lot more alcohol to get him drunk than it would one of the slow ones, and he always had a big stash at the ready.

Only one person had caught him so far, and that was only because of his heightened senses. Not that this particular person cared, except to blackmail him. Nenorocit.

Four bottles later and Pietro was pleasantly numb. He sat still, staring out the window. His annoying feelings were out of the way and now he could think about it rationally- if a bit slowly.

His father didn't love him. That was a fact. Mutants should be above these emotions, they held them back. Pietro was weak and he needed to work on that. His father still found usefullness in him, somehow, so he would stay. There was nowhere else to go anyway. Even if there was, he could never abandon his father or sister. He wouldn't force his worst fear on someone else.

His door opened. The bottles were all scattered on the floor, hidden by his bed, so he didn't turn to whoever entered.

The sound of sniffing. A growl. "Brat?"

Vikki. Pietro didn't respond.

A deeper growl. The sound of the door shutting. "You're drunk again? Do you have to do this every time you get punished?"

Pietro stared out the window.

A frustrated sound this time accompanied by muttered curses. "You need to learn how to take criticism, brat. How many have you had?"

No answer.

Boots stomped over. A hiss. "Four?" A giant form blocked his view. His eyes didn't follow.

"Pietro! Look at me!" A pair of fingers snapped in front of his face.

His eyes finally turned towards the feral. "That doesn't startle me, you know. Nothing really does."

Victor glared down at him. "How many more do you have?"

Pietro shrugged apathetically.

Victor rolled his eyes. "I'm takin' them." He crouched to look under the bed.

That got a reaction. "What? No, you can't take them! They're mine!"

"I can take them and I am," Victor stood with an armful of bottles, including the empty ones, "I'm not lettin' you drink yourself sick, brat. If your daddy found out he'd find a way to blame me somehow."

Pietro glared and tried to get to his feet. "No! I need them!"

"You're too young to need alcohol, brat," Victor growled, narrowing his eyes in warning, "Quit fussin' or your daddy isn't going to be the only one to hit you today."

Somewhere in his muddled head was the sense to shut up, so Pietro stared, then scowled and lay back. "You already hit me today."

"That was a love pat compared to what I'd do to you," Victor rolled his eyes again and went to the door. He sniffed, then walked into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

Pietro whined and slumped over on his bed, hugging his pillow again. Now he couldn't even have one of the few things that made him feel better. Well, he probably didn't deserve it anyway.

After a few more moments of self-pity Pietro managed to slip into a light, dreamless sleep.

A few hours had passed before he felt someone shaking his shoulder. He groaned and curled up into a ball, not wanting to wake up yet.

"Pietro, come on. We're having dinner soon," he heard Wanda say.

Dinner? He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it when light made his brain ache. "Ah!"

Wanda brushed his hair back and looked at him with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Head… hurts," he managed to say as he glanced at her.

"Were you crying again after I left?" she frowned, "Your eyes look red. You should take a shower and wash up, alright?" She kissed his forehead and moved back to give him room.

Pietro simply nodded and clumsily got to his feet. "I'll be fine… Don't worry. You go on ahead."

"If you say so," she messed up his hair, then scrunched her nose. "Was Remy in here? It smells like alcohol…"

"Vikki was," Pietro answered, "I'll open a window."

Wanda was satisfied with that answer and sat down on his bed. "I'll wait for you, we'll go to dinner together."

Pietro gave her a slight smile. "Thanks."

"Anything for my baby brother," she grinned.

Pietro shook his head, too hung over to argue.

After a five minute hot shower, he felt much better. Well, more able to hide the pain, anyway. His head still hurt, and his backside still hurt, but his eyes weren't red and he looked fresh and alert when he finished dressing and walked out to meet his sister. She took his hand and they walked down the hallway to the dining hall together.

Erik and the others had already started when they arrived.

"You're late," Erik commented.

"Yes we are," Wanda sat down, "Sorry about that, father. I had to talk with my brother about something."

Erik simply nodded in reply, accepting that excuse.

Pietro gingerly sat down, trying not to wince too obviously. Of course, someone noticed.

"Ah, is that the high-and-mighty brat I see squirming?" Todd Tolanksy sniggered.

Pietro grit his teeth and ignored it, fixing his plate.

"It's about time," St. John smirked, "He's been asking for it for a while now. What'd you do, throw another tantrum?"

His cheeks flushed. Victor growled.

Erik cleared his throat. "That is enough. Pietro is not a brat nor do you need to concern yourselves with what goes on between him and me. However, if you would like to keep up on the subject, I'm sure Sabretooth would have no problem discussing it at length with the two of you over in the next room."

Pietro looked up in surprise, then looked at his food again. His father probably felt like he had to say something only because it was his son under attack.

Victor grinned and cracked his knuckles. "Sure. My claws have been aching to inflict pain on something all day. A toad and a firebug would be perfect for them."

St. John and Todd exchanged a nervous look and continued to eat.

"Spoiled little daddy's boy never gets in trouble," Todd couldn't help muttering.

Erik simply waved his hand in a dismissive gesture towards Victor and the feral grabbed Todd by his shirt, dragging him out of the room.

"No! This isn't fair!" They could hear his protests, "He can say whatever he wants when something happens to us, but we can't-" A door slammed and his voice was muffled.

Erik shook his head. "So dramatic."

**Thank you for the reviews so far, I'm glad you are enjoying this fic and I hope you continue to do so :) I will try to get the next chapter out sooner now that the semester if over.**


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